PART FIVE
1
FOR THE FIRST three months, I kept the news of my pregnancy a secret from everyone except my immediate family and a couple close friends. We wanted to keep this as private as possible for the first trimester.
These days, my life is a running conversation on Twitter; I share details about my day or post questions about the issues I’m dealing with to my two million followers, and they respond similarly. I like the give-and-take, and also the connection to a larger community. I look forward to the information and support there. But in the early months of my pregnancy Twitter hadn’t been invented, and if it had been, I wouldn’t have tweeted, “Hey, I’m four days pregnant!”
You hoped for the best during those precarious first three months, but you never knew. That’s what made keeping the news quiet, other than to a few close girlfriends that I knew could keep a secret, such a unique period. I was excited and nervous, depending on the sensations I experienced as a new life developed inside me. The girlfriends I shared the news with were parents, and they were great to talk to about becoming a new mom.
Thank goodness it takes nine months to have a baby. Can you imagine the havoc if it happened instantly? I needed every minute of those nine months to contemplate the changes ahead, read books, learn about what was happening with my body, commune with Charlie, create a nursery, and prepare for the biggest responsibility of my life. I went through stages, though at the beginning I simply tried to adjust to the idea that I was going to be someone’s mom, and that Charlie was going to be a dad (for the second time); we were going to be parents. Would we be good parents? Would I be a good mom? What would my baby be like? Would it be healthy? Would I be a room mother one day? My questions were endless.
At times, I found myself thinking about it in a cosmic sense, the way you do when you realize bringing a child into the world connects you to the larger picture of motherhood, all the generations that had come before you and the jobs they’ve done to raise their children. I also did my share of self-centered navel-gazing and wondering how my stomach was actually going to fit a baby. But I knew many women had done this before me.
One thing I did do immediately was, on the day I found out I was pregnant, I began putting shea butter on my belly, breasts, hips, and thighs to prevent stretch marks. With all that grease, I ruined my share of bedsheets. But guess what? No stretch marks! As for the traditional side effects of pregnancy, I had them. Early on, I battled serious fatigue. I’d be driving and want to pull over and take a nap. I feared something was wrong. But my mom and my doctor assured me this was normal. My body was telling me to slow down.
My biggest challenge was morning sickness, or the thought of it. I was nauseous a few mornings or it was just in my head. I just hoped and prayed I wouldn’t puke due to a lifelong phobia of throwing up. I know—it’s bizarre. And for the longest time, I had no idea why I was afflicted. I’d run out of the room if someone was sick. I didn’t want to catch it. Or I’d ask if the person had the flu or food poisoning and hope it was the latter. I was in my early twenties before my mom explained that as a little girl I followed my dad into the bathroom while he was sick and saw him puke. I thought he was dying, she said, and it affected the rest of my life.
It pisses me off that something I don’t even remember has had such an impact on me, but it has, and my phobia, formally known as emetophobia, presented a unique challenge during my first trimester. In theory, I don’t think fear should ever hold people back from something they want to do, and I wasn’t about to let my fear ruin the initial months of my pregnancy, when my body was changing as a result of the miracle taking place in my belly. As I said, I was challenged. My mom had had terrible morning sickness with her pregnancies, and my sister had puked with hers, too. I hoped and prayed my experience would be different, and it was. But it was a matter of mind over body, not a lack of nausea, and my methods weren’t anything you’re going to find in What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
No, when I was hit with a wave of nausea, I’d say, “Bitch, get ahold of yourself. It’s just in your head.” I also ate tons of lemon Popsicles after hearing that lemon calmed an upset stomach. I heard the same about ginger candy, and despite burning the hell out of my throat, I popped them into my mouth like vitamins. I also had crackers and soda next to my bed at all times. But really, saying “Bitch, get ahold of yourself” was most effective.
My sense of taste and smell also changed. I loved salmon and usually ate it a couple times a week, but once I got pregnant, I couldn’t even smell it without feeling my stomach turn. To this day I still can’t eat salmon. The same was true of broccoli, my favorite vegetable. (The good news is that I can now eat broccoli.) Also the scent of a certain Dyptique candle called Mimosa, which I’d enjoyed for years (still can’t smell that crap!) made me sick. I do enjoy other scents by Dyptique. As for cravings, I reached for the pickles. I couldn’t get enough of them. And I ate ice cream almost every night before bed. Such weird, random things, but in looking back, I think they were God’s way of warning that life was going to change with a child and I’d better learn to deal. I’d have to give up some favorite things, but I’d discover new pleasures. It makes sense.
I worked out all through my pregnancy. I got in my cardio on the elliptical, lifted light weights, and did lots of walking. My doctor told me not to get my heart rate up past 140, so I bought a heart monitor and didn’t push it. In general, I learned to listen to my body and only did what felt good, a good rule to follow all the time, not just when you’re pregnant.
By August, Charlie was working on his first season of Two and a Half Men. Unlike movies, sitcoms allow for pretty regular hours, which is convenient if you have a family, and is the reason many actors look for jobs on TV series. But as with any project, early on the sitcom led to long, hard days as everyone searched for the right notes. The network was doing everything it could to give the show a big launch, and between getting it right on camera and with promotion, Charlie put in extremely long hours. We didn’t see each other as much as we had over the past year, but there was a payoff. Two and a Half Men was an instant hit, and we added to the celebratory mood by releasing a statement about our own wonderful news. It felt as if the sun were shining directly on us. Things couldn’t have been better.
But can things be too good? Is there truth in the adage about something being too good to be true? I don’t think so. I try to live in the moment, and in the same way, I don’t worry about what’s in the past. This took some time for me to figure out. I don’t want to be one of those people who ask, “What if?” I think about what I have to do that day, and now that I have two kids, I relish those wonderful, easy daily moments; they go so fast. Everyone has his or her share of moments when the sky darkens and the storm sirens wail. Sometimes you bring the problems on yourself, while other times it’s simply fate and the path we are chosen to be on.
In my case, it was definitely beyond my control. I had just been cast in Elvis Has Left the Building, a comedic road picture starring Kim Basinger and John Corbett, and I was telling my friends that director Joel Zwick should be acknowledged as an enlightened male in Hollywood for sticking with an actress who was four months pregnant, when that first storm cloud rolled in. My mom was diagnosed with kidney (renal cell) cancer. My mom called and matter-of-factly gave me the details of her diagnosis (doctors thought it was stage 2, an early stage). She filled me in on her surgery that was being scheduled, as well as her reassuring rationale that life had to go on despite this curveball. “And it will go on,” she said defiantly, to all of us, including herself. Now, I’m sure privately with my dad this news crushed her, but her speech was my mom being strong for her family. She was our rock and that’s how she handled bad news. Charlie offered similar words of support, and at my mom’s urging, I made two trips to the movie’s location in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It was hard going away, but it let me focus on something other than the scary situation she faced. I could feel my tummy growing tighter and my body changing yet again as I entered the midpoint of my second trimester. Amazing. Even more miraculous, I thought, was the timing of my mom’s cancer with my pregnancy, something I continued to think about years later as I began healing. That she would get this diagnosis at the same time I was creating a new life struck me as extraordinary intersection of fate. I wanted to see meaning in it, but I couldn’t think too much about it. As I was growing up, my mom would at times tell me with every death, there is a birth. I had to get that out of my head. (Ironically, two weeks before my mom died, my youngest nephew was born. Since I believe children choose their parents, I wanted to believe they also had something to do with the timing of their arrival in the world.) When I called to check on my mom at that time, she ended up asking about me. I was more amazed by this sense of selflessness when I looked back years later, yet it wasn’t so much selflessness as it was the force of motherhood, a power I’d come to know. As much as she was looking forward to being a grandmother again, she was still being a mom to me and taking pleasure in seeing me prepare for this new role myself. We had wonderful conversations.
I made two trips to Santa Fe, and before the first one, I had an ultrasound and the doctor said Charlie and I could find out the baby’s sex if we wanted. We weren’t sure if we wanted to know. It’s one of life’s great surprises, yet modern technology and the urge to decorate a nursery before the baby arrives, along with the lure of curiosity, have made this information hard to resist. Charlie and I compromised. We had the doctor write it down on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope, which we then stuck in a drawer at home while we debated whether we wanted to know ahead of time. We lasted only a few days before we opened the envelope and found out we were having a girl. I was ecstatic. I told my mom right away. “I can’t wait to buy pink everything,” I said, sounding as giddy as a little girl myself.
I finished the movie, we got past my mom’s first surgery, and then the holidays came and went. Christmas was spent with my parents during the day and Charlie’s in the evening. We did a lot of driving, and those hours spent on the road might have been symbolic as we hit a couple bumpy roads in our relationship during these months. They were little things that I assumed couples go through. I chalked it up to stress and sensitivity. I was worried about my mom, Charlie was distracted with his new show. I was pregnant. We were getting ready to be new parents. It was an exciting time, but one filled with change and challenges.
I looked forward to decorating the nursery. With our house still mostly done in bachelor-pad black, I had a feeling this oasis of pink, as I envisioned it, was going to be my favorite room—and it was. I put a calming pink color on the walls (Benjamin Moore paint #883), hardwood floors with a beautiful rug, a crib, a changing table, and a twin bed with mermaid-themed bedding. It was pink galore, a little baby girl’s fantasy room. No, make that a thirty-two-year-old girl’s fantasy room. I loved it. Everything was set for her arrival.
Like many first-time moms, I may have been a little overzealous. I thought I needed everything imaginable for a baby—and needed it right away. I soon learned how simple a baby’s needs are. They don’t need all the fancy-schmancy stuff. Now I tell first-time mommies to keep it simple: diapers, bassinet, onesies, and a lot of love. My best advice? Relax and enjoy every moment.
Charlie and I had one last major detail to figure out—her name. My favorites were Lilly and Stella, something girly and feminine. Charlie had his heart set on Sam. Not Samantha. Just Sam. I wasn’t easily sold, and we were still debating it when I had my baby shower. Mindy Weiss hosted the shower at the Hotel Bel-Air, and when my mom, Michelle, Charlie’s mom and his sister, and all my friends arrived at the all-girl luncheon, they were each given a pastel-colored baby block with their initial on it. Toward the end of the shower, which was festive and fun, Charlie showed up and noticed three blocks were left over. Guess what the letters on them spelled? S-A-M. I kid you not. “How can you argue with that?” asked Charlie. Laughingly, I couldn’t.
Charlie had named his angel.
2
TO CHRONICLE THE advancing stages of my pregnancy, we took photos of my belly from the side. The progress was unmistakable. As I headed into my final few months, everything I read about in the stack of books on my bedside table was coming true. I couldn’t see my damn feet. It was the weirdest thing. And trying to shave my legs was incredibly difficult, an exercise in stretching and contortion. “Thank God I’m really flexible,” I’d tell my mom and sister. I continued getting my bikini wax; my sister thought I’d lost my mind when she heard that newsflash. It’s painful enough under normal circumstances, but pregnant, whoa, it’s a new level of horrendous! You’re incredibly sensitive down there, but as I explained to Michelle, I didn’t give a shit. I’d rather suffer through that few minutes of pain.
I also had a dark line down the center of my belly. I still have no idea why there is a dark line, and let me tell you, it takes a long time for it to go away. Another side effect of that little peanut getting bigger was major heartburn. My mom warned me, but it didn’t make the burning sensation any more tolerable. Just drinking water ignited that irritating fire in my chest. Thankfully, it went away as soon as the baby was born.
Such pleasant stuff, right?
It got better. We found out I needed a C-section. Having been present when my sister gave birth naturally, and having watched the baby come out of her, I wasn’t terribly disappointed at skipping a vaginal birth. No matter which way the baby came out, though, it was hard to imagine—and scary. The doctor picked Wednesday, March 10, as her birthday; Charlie was going to be on hiatus; it was also the day closest to my actual due date when the doctor scheduled C-sections. However, as he said, it was really up to Sam.
In anticipation of the big occasion, Charlie informed me he’d gotten me a special commemorative gift and had it engraved with Sam’s scheduled birthday. I told Mr. Organized that Sam might not be born on the tenth. “What do you mean?” he said. “We scheduled it on the tenth.” I laughed. “It’s not really up to us,” I said. “She could come earlier.” He thought I was crazy.
On the morning of the ninth, Charlie and I completed the paperwork for the hospital and I had my final checkup. The doctor said everything was fine and normal and he’d see me the next day. Stupidly I hadn’t mentioned during my checkup that I didn’t feel quite right. I chalked it up to nervousness, and when my doctor asked how I was feeling, I said, “Fine.” For our last night as a couple, Charlie and I had planned dinner at our favorite restaurant, Giorgio’s, and I was looking forward to the meal. Until then, we were just hanging out together.
But as the day progressed, I started to feel worse. At one point, I was on the phone with my mom and told her to hold on because I was having a stomach cramp—or so I told her. Now, I know better. It was a contraction. I was in labor. I was also in denial. I have a high tolerance for pain, and I thought I could suck whatever it was up, get through the night, and make it until our scheduled appointment in the morning. Why the stubbornness? Maybe some of Charlie’s obsession with sticking to a schedule had rubbed off on me.
After Charlie saw me struggle down the stairs, he asked what was wrong, and I had to tell him that I was having seriously bad pains. His face went white when I said they’d been going on since early morning, but had recently increased in both frequency and severity. He called the doctor, who told him to bring me in right away. To Charlie, that meant get in the car and go. As far as I was concerned, though, right away meant after I took a shower and washed my hair. Again, I don’t understand my thought process. Nor do I know how I made it through the shower and shampoo. I had to sit on the floor while I blew my hair dry. I was in such pain the dogs stared at me with concern. I can’t believe I thought I could make it through the night. I guess I desperately wanted to make sure Sam was born on the tenth and Charlie’s gift was engraved with the real date. A part of me thought maybe this was all in my head and I wasn’t really in labor. Chalk it up to irrationality. By that point I just didn’t want to have the baby in the car.
Charlie sped to the hospital. Since we had not taken any Lamaze classes, we had no idea what to do. Every time I winced through a contraction, he told me to “breathe!” I barely heard him. I withdrew inside myself and dealt with the pain rolling through me. I’ll tell you, though, it’s amazing more men aren’t injured during those moments. Contractions are a pain I have never experienced before. Women are not exaggerating when they say this. It’s bad, and this is coming from someone who had her chest cut open a few times. This was painful. Charlie dropped me off in front of the hospital, then parked the car and probably had a cigarette to calm his nerves.
Inside, I was quickly admitted and taken to the maternity floor, where a nurse hooked me up to a monitor and confirmed that I was in labor. I was relieved. It wasn’t all in my head! My contractions were six minutes apart. Charlie was asked to step out of the room while I got an epidural. The relief was quick, but let me tell you, what an odd sensation. When it kicked in, I wasn’t able to feel my legs, and I hated that. For a split second I thought, what if that never wears off? It was a little scary, scary for the fear of the unknown. I had never had a baby before and was experiencing all of this for the first time. I thought, if it was that bad, women wouldn’t keep having children.
As they wheeled me into the operating room, I glanced over at my husband and thought he looked sexy in his scrubs. I actually wanted him to bring them home. Just before 11:00 p.m., our daughter was born. Sam J. Sheen—her middle initial stands for both of our moms, Joni and Janet—weighed in at a healthy seven pounds three ounces and sounded delighted to have arrived in this world. In one of my most vivid and happiest memories, Charlie intercepted her as the doctor handed her off to the nurse, to show his parents, who were waiting outside. It was too soon. She wasn’t even properly cleaned, weighed, and swaddled. But he was so excited and proud of his “little princess,” as he called her.
My mom and dad came up the next morning. I overflowed with joy as my mom met her new granddaughter; she was so happy. My mom loved being a grandma more than anything else in the world. The moment I held my baby daughter for the first time, I felt a love I had never before felt. It’s different from loving your husband, or boyfriend or girlfriend. I can’t explain it. It was magical! In those first few hours and days you are simply the happiest person on the planet. At least I was. I spent four days in the hospital recovering from my C-section and nursing the baby. Charlie slept there every night, too, and seeing him with our baby made me fall more in love with him, and he voiced the same. We were parents, together. We were a family, not just husband and wife but a family of three. During the day, he went home for a bit, and always with a baby blanket we stole from the hospital (I’m sure we actually paid for it). All the books said if you have dogs, bring home a blanket with the baby’s scent on it. We had the dogs sleep with it to get used to her smell.
Charlie and I were both ready when we finally got the green light to take Sam home to see her new room and meet her furry siblings. Our initial adjustment to family life was marred by an unexpected glitch. Throughout my pregnancy, friends repeatedly advised us to hire a baby nurse. Charlie and I were far from incompetent or unprepared; in fact, we were at the other extreme, overprepared. And truth be told, I was against hiring any help. I was breast-feeding and unsure what a nurse might do. I was confused by this.
But people were so adamant about our needing a baby nurse that we were scared to not have one, especially Charlie, who was sold on the idea the first time someone mentioned the nurse would stay up all night to make sure the baby breathed normally. I had to remember I’d married a man who had a bulletproof bedroom door and a fire pole in the closet for an emergency escape. He was always prepared for a disaster.
Even though my mom stayed with us for two weeks, turning that time into a heavenly, much-treasured experience by cooking for us, getting up in the night with Sam and me, talking to me as I nursed my baby, and bringing me water and pretzels (nursing made me thirsty and hungry), we still hired a baby nurse. I had to put Charlie at ease. The nurse was from Brazil, and I wish I had good things to say about her. But on her first night with us, she sat on the twin bed across from me as I nursed Sam and stared at me while flipping through magazines. I didn’t like having her there. I’m not that shy with my body, but this was such an intimate moment of me bonding with my daughter that I felt self-conscious.
The next night, she came in and went to bed. She actually got into the twin bed in the nursery and went to sleep. I hadn’t even put the baby down in the crib for the night. Charlie was pissed. We had hired her to watch the baby to make sure she was breathing all night. How was she going to do that if she was sleeping herself? We also found out she wasn’t a licensed nurse. That was it for her. Two nights. She was so fired.
After a couple of weeks, the three of us settled into a nice routine. Charlie was back at work, and I handled mommy duties. Every day was a new adventure, with hours spent marveling at my baby girl as she ate, slept, and stared up at me with large, inquisitive eyes. Night feedings didn’t bother me; I loved that quiet time with her. It was special. I’d tell every new mother to savor these moments. I know it gets exhausting, but it sure does go fast. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get that time back so I really enjoyed it.
One thing that I wasn’t prepared for were night sweats. For me, the sweat was out of control. I couldn’t believe that much water came out of my body. My hair would be soaked when I woke up in the morning. It was disgusting, but part of the process—and it eventually passed.
The human body is amazing, especially a woman’s body. At times during my pregnancy and then post-baby, I was amazed at what your body can go through. A new life grew inside me, my body expanded, the baby came out of me, and then I provided nourishment. Talk about miracles.
I felt good for having taken care of myself during my pregnancy. Among the more pleasant surprises was how quickly I began to lose the thirty pounds I’d put on during my pregnancy. Nursing helped. Because of the C-section, I couldn’t exercise for six weeks, but I didn’t feel like hitting the gym yet. I was too damn tired, and I wanted to deal with other issues first.
3
ALTHOUGH CHARLIE DOTED on Sam, which I adored seeing, I hated that the two of us continued to encounter bumps in our relationship. We started experiencing these bumps more frequently, and I wasn’t sure why.
I think a lot of women can relate to how, when things aren’t quite right in your relationship, you blame yourself. It can affect your self-esteem, and that’s exactly what happened with me.
A progression of incidents, which I won’t go into in detail, started to make me feel vulnerable and confused. Then, a couple months after having Sam, I received an offer from Playboy. It wasn’t the first time they’d asked me to pose in the magazine. As I mentioned earlier, I began hearing from them as soon as I finished Wild Things. But this time was different, and I thought maybe I should say yes.
Why was it different? I had various reasons. I wanted people to see that a woman could still be sexy after having a baby. I wanted my husband to think I looked sexy. I wanted to feel sexy myself. I was starting to feel insecure and thought maybe this would help. In addition, I said to myself, “One day they aren’t going to ask you, so you might as well do it now.”
Before responding to the magazine, I asked Charlie. At first he didn’t express much support, but after talking to me and thinking about it, he changed his mind, explaining that as a longtime fan of the magazine he’d be a hypocrite if he said no. Had he objected, of course, I would’ve turned it down. But as soon as he offered his support, I accepted the offer. Then Playboy surprised us by asking Charlie to take the pictures. I wasn’t sure, but I thought the last time that might’ve happened was when John Derek famously photographed his wife, Bo.
Although flattered, Charlie declined, good-naturedly explaining he couldn’t guarantee they’d be in focus. Privately, we also thought it might be too intimate, though I have to admit, once I was committed, a part of me thought it would be cool if Charlie was the photographer. How great to have your husband show you off that intimately to the rest of the world, or maybe that wouldn’t be so great. Regardless, the pictures needed to be in focus, so we decided not to have him do it.
Anyway, I went with the photographer the magazine recommended and then had numerous meetings about the shoot. We worked out the details (no vajayjay), the concept (beach), the location (the Bahamas), and the wardrobe (not much).
In the meantime, I booked a Lifetime movie, I Do (But I Don’t), with Dean Cain, an old friend of mine from when I was starting out and had a tiny part on an episode of Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. I wanted to shoot the movie first to give me some time to lose my baby weight (I had ten pounds to go!). With Sam only three months old, I had mixed feelings about going back to work sooner than I anticipated. At the level where I was at in my career, a longer leave would make it that much harder to get a job. My agent advised me to get back to work, so I did!
Charlie and I still didn’t have a nanny. So I had to figure out how I was going to film a movie without a nanny. My mom visited often and helped me, and I took Sam everywhere. Unfortunately, my mom wasn’t physically ready after her surgery to go with me to Montreal for the movie, but I thought, I’ll handle this myself, and I did for a short time. I couldn’t believe how much crap I had to pack for me and the baby!
Thank God Dean was on my flight. A good daddy himself, he helped lug some of my bags as we went through customs. I had my arms full with an infant. Once settled and on the set, I felt good about being back at work. I love the job, I love acting, I love focusing on a new character, and I love the camaraderie of the cast and crew. It was a welcome escape from the issues at home—and having my daughter there made me even happier.
During filming, I set up a Pack ‘n Play next to me and prayed Sam would not cry during a scene. Since I still nursed, I had to double up on the breast pads to prevent any leaks on my wardrobe. (Sorry, it’s the truth.) Between feedings, burpings, spit-ups, cries, naps, and dirty diapers, and clean clothes, I juggled a lot between takes. I finally realized I needed help. When Charlie got a break, I asked him to give me a hand, and he brought our housekeeper and left her there when he had to go back so I’d have an extra set of hands. He ended up flying back and forth several times.
Back in L.A., Charlie also focused on the remodeling we were doing on a new house we had bought just before I left. Yes, the house. We’d envisioned a home that would be ours, one where we could raise a family, and following weeks of searching, we found one we thought was perfect. It was close to the studio where Charlie worked on Two and a Half Men and was beautiful, with plenty of rooms and a yard for the brood of children and animals we envisioned. It was, in fact, the old Al Jolson estate in Encino. But it should be called the divorce house. I’m not joking. We bought it from Katey Sagal (divorced there), who purchased it from Kirstie Alley (divorced there), and we found out three other couples before her also split while living there. And guess what? We also got divorced living in that damn house! So if you’re married and in the market for a home in Encino, California, I would pass on the Al Jolson estate.
After having a blast on the movie with Dean Cain, I headed back to L.A. and did an almost immediate turnaround for the Bahamas. Five months had passed since I had given birth, and my body had bounced back into shape. Though I didn’t have a huge amount of time to work out, filming and caring for the baby kept me busy, and apparently burned calories. I wasn’t at my pre-baby weight, but I felt good physically, and I was confident about the shoot.
Well, I had no choice actually. If we waited any longer, it would be hurricane season and I’d already committed to the shoot, so my body was what it was. So off I went.
4
TOO BAD CHARLIE had started the second season of Two and a Half Men. Otherwise he could’ve come along. In his stead, I had a mini-entourage that included Sam, my mom, my dad (yes, my dad), my hairdresser (Campbell), and my makeup artist (Lutz). Both were dear friends—and both had girlfriends, which made the thought of them seeing me naked kind of awkward. They treated me like I was their little sister. Again, awkward. But I told myself to get used to it and focus on having fun.
And fun was my goal. I was thrilled about being able to take my parents and let them have nice vacation. On the way to the Bahamas, we barely made our connecting flight in Miami, then once on the plane, we hit a series of delays, including a heavy thunder and lightning storm that delayed takeoff, a problem with the ground crew, and then Sam had a meltdown. Ours was the last flight of the day, and I prayed we’d take off because I didn’t want to try to find some place for all of us to sleep.
Fortunately, there was a break in the weather and we got to the Bahamas. Unfortunately, my bags did not. Everybody else got his or her luggage except me. My mom joked that I was going to be naked the whole trip anyway and didn’t need my clothes. At least I had a toothbrush in my carry-on, and in the morning she and I bought me a bathing suit, underwear, and a sarong in the hotel gift shop.
Later that morning, I remembered an incident from my childhood that made this whole episode ironic. When my sister and I were kids, we found an issue of my dad’s Playboy—he had a subscription—and Michelle and I cried to him, thinking he and my mom were getting divorced. He explained that he only had the magazine for the articles. We believed him and felt relieved. He laughed when I reminded him of that. I know it might be weird to bring my parents, especially my dad, on a shoot for Playboy, but they weren’t at the actual shoot. They were poolside, baby!
Even though Lutz, Campbell, and I wanted to have fun in the sun, we were there to work. My mornings were spent with Lutz and Campbell coming to my room for breakfast and getting me ready. Then I kissed the baby good-bye, left her with my parents, and took a boat to a remote island where we shot hundreds of photos. It was well after sundown by the time we got back to the hotel. You would think having done Wild Things would make posing for Playboy easier. Actually it was a little harder. It was bright sunlight out in the wide open for anyone on a boat to see me. Also I was posing by myself, nobody else to kind of be there, too. On the boat that first morning, I thought, what the hell am I doing? It was typical me. To have a flash of that thought, in a situation where I felt vulnerable. I also had to get that thought out of my head so I could do a good job.
I knew there was no turning back. Nor did I ever really have second thoughts. I’d made a commitment and I was going to suck it up and do whatever was necessary to do a great job. That’s me in a nutshell—a girl who keeps her word, stays focused, and tries hard.
Once on the island, I saw the largest piece of clothing they had for me consisted of a few strands of seaweed. It was a shocking reminder that I wasn’t going to be wearing much of anything. But seaweed? It wasn’t even real clothing. Oh, well. It wasn’t the time to dwell on feeling insecure about taking off my clothes. With a job to do, I channeled a bunch of positive energy and threw on my seaweed. I said to myself, “Okay, as long as you’re doing this, make it great.”
I declined the pitcher of margaritas they had waiting. It was too hot to drink and I thought, getting tipsy, this could go all bad. I wanted to keep my wits about me. Quite frankly, Lutz and Campbell needed a drink more than I did. They could barely look at me without blushing, though after a few hours and various setups, all of us got more comfortable. Indeed, soon Lutz was rubbing oil on my breasts and ice cubes on my nipples. Playboy liked hard nipples (sorry, maybe TMI), and Campbell, in a stroke of creative genius, braided some bamboo leaves in my hair, which looked fantastic. His best styling tool for my hair? The salt water. Honest to God, it was amazing.
I lost my inhibition in the middle of day two when a boat went by with a bunch of people. Initially, I covered myself up, and then I thought, girl, there is going to be more than a boatload of people looking at you topless! I dropped the cover-up and said, “Let’s keep going.” By the end, I felt good about the photo shoot. Oh, and my luggage finally showed up!
Back home, Playboy sent me the proof sheet so I could approve those I liked. Who better to help pick the best shots than my husband? Charlie and I edited the pictures together. Although my most private area was contractually off-limits, I actually approved one black-and-white photo that showed my hoo hah. It was my favorite shot of the bunch. To me, the whole shoot looked editorial, stylized, sexy, and natural, and I loved that it was black-and-white, which Playboy ran only rarely.
Sooner rather than later, the world was going to see me naked. With the vajayjay shot, I didn’t think there was anything more I could possibly expose about myself. I was wrong.
5
ABOUT A MONTH later, I noticed Charlie staring at me, his piercing dark eyes fastened on me with an unusual intensity. It was early October, and the two of us were in the kitchen, talking about the progress on the work being done on the new house. I stopped making lunch and asked why he was looking at me like that. I didn’t understand. He’d recently seen two thousand photos of me butt naked. What had he missed?
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” he said, so sure I barely noticed he was asking me a question.
“What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant.” I meant that, too. As far as I knew, I wasn’t pregnant. We had definitely talked about a sibling, but I certainly didn’t think I would get pregnant so quick after having Sam.
“Yes, you are,” he said.
“No, I’m not. I’d know if I was. Why are you saying that?”
“Because you just put pickles on your sandwich. I’ve only seen you eat pickles one time—when you were pregnant with Sam.”
He had a point, but I laughed it off. Charlie was full of superstitions, intuitive predications and declarations, and far-fetched theories. However, at a birthday party for a friend’s child the following weekend, I was overcome with a sudden wave of dizziness, a feeling that was more strange than faint, like a full-body reboot. I looked across the room at Charlie and thought, damn, he might be right.
On the way home, I had Charlie stop at the pharmacy and get me a pregnancy test. I told him to pick up five. “Just in case,” I said. He came back with one. He knew we didn’t need any more. Indeed, a short time later, we were staring at the results. I hadn’t even missed my period. “I knew it,” he said. “It was the pickles.”
I was surprised at how easily I got pregnant again. I know: if you don’t use birth control, chances are you’ll get pregnant. But at the time, quite a few of my girlfriends were trying for their second baby and having a difficult time getting pregnant. Charlie and I weren’t trying, but we weren’t not trying. Ideally, we wanted our babies close in age. Charlie’s siblings are all close, and my sister and I are only eighteen months apart. I was grateful it happened easily.
Charlie was excited about baby number two. Both of us were. I was nervous again about throwing up, but I employed the same mind-over-nausea tactics I did the first time around. Charlie and I seemed to have hit a groove. I felt that we were very connected. Our recent rough patch was behind us, and I chalked it up to the bumps that every marriage hits. We worked through it. Those types of challenges would only make us stronger, I thought. And closer. I was in it for the long haul.
In November, we moved into our new home and settled in as much as possible despite the chaos of unpacking and workmen still finishing the remodel. I guest-starred on Charlie’s show. I had also done an episode when I was pregnant with Sam and they’d covered my belly. This time my character came back with a baby. The producers hired twins for the part, but Charlie and I thought it would be cute if we put Sam in the role and had that memory of her. But I’ll never forget being in the makeup room, not wanting anyone to know I was pregnant again, yet getting terribly sick to my stomach from the smell of incense burning nearby. It took extraordinary willpower to not barf while getting my hair and makeup done. The payoff was the episode: it was funny, and I loved working with Charlie.
Shortly after, our marriage changed drastically. It came out of the blue, and it was more than a rough patch. These issues are so personal that I don’t want to divulge exactly what changes, and if you’ve ever been through a similar situation, you know the details don’t matter. The fact is, our marriage was crumbling, and fast.
I was an emotional wreck, careering up and down and in every other direction. Some days I was sad, confused, angry, shocked, and full of despair; and other days I ignored the situation, marching forward in a daze of denial. They were days of denial, too. My Playboy issue came out and I promoted it on The Tonight Show and The Ellen DeGeneres Show, smiling and joking to keep from revealing that my personal life was in shambles. But the façade was hard to maintain. Charlie and I pulled out of a scheduled Redbook magazine cover shoot after having an argument at the last minute. We couldn’t blame it on my pregnancy since no one knew it yet. I don’t remember what our publicist told the magazine. We ended up rescheduling, and it turned out to be one of my favorite pictures the two of us took. It also turned out to be the last photo shoot we did together.
We kept the pregnancy quiet until I got through my first trimester, though there was a scare along the way. At nine weeks, I encountered some bleeding, not a lot but enough to concern my doctor, who had me meet him at his office on a Sunday. He gave me some medication to help stop the bleeding. I was worried we’d lose the baby. I blamed myself. I wondered if the stress of my marriage had caused the problem. Since I hadn’t had any problems with my first pregnancy, I figured it had to be the stress. I tried to relax and take it easy for a few weeks, but my personal life did not make either one a simple task.
At my next ultrasound appointment, I was terrified I wouldn’t see a heartbeat. I was a basket case as I lay on the examining table, pulled up my shirt, and felt the chill of the gel spread on my tummy. Thankfully, a moment later, I bravely turned my head toward the ultrasound screen and saw the tiny heart beating normally. “Everything looks perfect,” my doctor said. I thought, wow, I’m blessed with a fighter; this baby is strong. Little did I know how much strength she’d give me in months to come.
Toward the end of December the situation at home worsened, which was hard to believe, and I left late at night, taking Sam, and we moved back into our old house. I guess it was a cooling-off period for us. After four days I went back home.
In January, Charlie and I attended the Golden Globes together. He was nominated again. I wore a beautiful dress and stood by my husband’s side, smiling and supporting him as if everything were picture-perfect. We looked like a solid couple. Unfortunately, Charlie didn’t win that night, and we left early; it was not a good night for us.
The Screen Actors Guild Awards, in February, was another hard evening, but for different reasons. I was now five months pregnant and not feeling like myself. Charlie and I were late getting out the door when I put on a beautiful burgundy gown that a stylist had found for me and had altered for my growing belly. It didn’t fit. I turned to a friend who was helping me get ready and gritted my teeth. I threw open my closet door. “What do I have in here that will fit—and that’s appropriate?” I said.
I didn’t want to go, but I feared the press would speculate we were having problems if I wasn’t with Charlie. In hindsight, we simply could have said I wasn’t feeling well if anyone asked. But I wasn’t thinking like my normal self. I had hormones raging through my body, and I was trying to figure out what to do about my marriage. My frustration came to a head over that dress. I was close to tears but didn’t want to ruin my makeup. Talk about your silly problems, right?
Well, with my friend’s help and reassurance, I finally pulled a black Dolce & Gabbana dress out of my closet. It was stretchy and the only thing I could get on that would remotely look good for an awards show. I apologized to my friend for being unusually self-conscious. But it takes a lot of effort to put a look together for these events, and after getting into the outfit, I felt underdressed, not to mention I thought I looked like a sausage squeezed into that thing.
I did not relish the idea of walking the red carpet in front of a thousand reporters and photographers. Ah, well, the event wasn’t about me; it was about Charlie, who was nominated. My job was to suck it up, smile, and support my husband, which I gamely did.
The photos of us on the red carpet that night were the last pictures taken of us at a public event together. A short time later, Charlie and I split up. Those photos of us ran everywhere.